Stranger in a Strange World
by Anna de Fhaen
Summary: Moderate AUMight be some OOC. Woman from modern world is taken into the streets of Calimport to contend with Artemis, Jarlaxle, drow, and her own forgotten past. Set during SOTS. Eventual ArtemisOC. Rated for adult scenes and themes. Moves fast in the
1. Prologue

I do not own anything but my own creations and my imagination. DO NOT COPY THIS WITHOUT MY WRITTEN PERMISSION

Her legs pressed tight around the hot flesh of the racing stallion, her will silently urging the horse on. She leaned forward in the saddle until her face was pressed into the mane of her Achelon, the sticky wet hair plastered to her face. She felt the muscles of the powerful horse tense and release as he overtook graceful, but frantic distance in each stretch of his long legs. She was blind to the woods around her, and the storm that displayed awesome beauty in the sky above her. She felt only the horse under her, the deep, biting cold and the fever it delivered that pulsed its poison through her boiling hot blood. Her only focus was remaining in the saddle despite Achelon's expert maneuvering through the thick Canadian forest. Her hands no longer held the horse's reigns, but rather she clung to the horse's neck, whispering encouragements in her head that her frozen lips could not utter. If she were cognizant enough to think, she would have heard the sharp cracks of the trees around her, and a fear would have clung to her heart. Instead, she had the bravery of a woman blind of her surroundings.

She had stolen away on an impulse, grabbing only necessities to stuff in the saddlebags, and taking her prize stallion to run away with her to meet a man beyond the woods who promised to help her. She would not be foolish enough to steal one of her father's cars, for fear of him finding her. But she had not known the cold that would set in this night, in combination with the rain. She would be lucky to make it through the woods…unless she turned around now. These thoughts would have plagued the young Tristen Morgan's mind if she had the capacity, but, as it were, the only decision-making taking place was on the part of the stallion beneath her, which rode with all his heart to deliver his mistress to safety. His flesh burned with his own fever, his mouth hung open gasping in the cold air that froze his throat and lungs with sharp pain. He did not slow his pace, although he felt his wild eyes slowly closing against the water that whipped like needles into his face. The darkness loomed around him with hungry fervor, and trees cackled in the wind, causing the stallion's heart to beat faster and faster as an icy tremor caused his panic to mount. He was blind to the world around him; his eyes now sealed shut from the force of the rain. It was his blindness that shielded the emergence of the creek before him. The ground suddenly vanished beneath him as the earth dipped into the overflowing waters, and the brave mount fell head long into the waters with his young mistress's silent scream upon her chapped lips.


	2. Chapter 1: A Stranger in the Night

I Do not own anything but my own characters and my imagination. DO NOT COPY WITHOUT MY WRITTEN PERMISSION

Tristen's eyes fluttered gently at the sound of subdued laughter and the sound of hooves striking brick as a horse passed on a nearby street. Her eyes were reluctant to obey her and open, but when they finally opened she found herself in a dirty ally, nestled near a pile of refuse and horse dung. The smell assaulted her gentle senses, and her immediate instinct was to rise and flee from the hideous stench. She found her body to be unaccommodating to her request, however, stiff with cold despite the hot night, her clothes soaked, despite the dry weather, and her head pounding from some unknown assault. The world seemed strange to her, although she could not remember why, and she found herself warily taking in her surroundings. Night reigned the strange city, and she found herself surrounded by wooden buildings. She could smell the sea on the still wind, and hear the gentle clashes of the waves against the shore. Voices flittered around her, and strange figures walked the streets. She saw women scantily clad, flirting with men that passed them on the streets, and strange, dark eyed boy-men that watched from the shadows as if stalking unsuspecting prey.

The young woman seemed to as yet be unnoticed, by choice of those around her or by stealth, she did not know. She found her body thawing, and limberness returning to her, although she was frightened of standing for lack of want to draw the predatory gaze of the men in the shadows upon herself. An instinct drove her to flee from the ally, however, before predators found her weak with fear and disorientation. Tristen did not know where she would run to, however, as she had no recollection of where she came from or how she came to be nestled next to refuse and dung in a dark ally near the sea. She gingerly placed her hands out before her on the ground and pushed herself up onto her knees. She reached her soft hands then to grasp the wood of the building beside her and pulled herself to her feet. Leaning against the wall, her head spun, sending her mind into a violent disarray of pain, until slowly she recovered.

She took a tentative step forward, letting go of the wall, and found her balance sound enough to take more steps, until she crossed the ally and leaned on the opposite wall. The people on the street remained oblivious to her presence, or ignored it. She found that a small comfort, but not a comfort enough to ease her panic. She had no place to return to, and no place to take refuge from the terrors of the night and the night's denizens. As these thoughts graced her head, a figure slipped past her in the ally, ignoring her presence entirely. She watched the man pass her, as if on the paws of a cat, and slip into the streets beyond with a confidence and purpose she so desperately needed. In, perhaps, a judgment of folly, her desperation drove her to follow the man out of the ally and into the strange streets. She saw his black cloak fading away, and followed awkwardly after, fighting the dizziness of her head to make each step. A street walked turned to look at the strangely dressed girl appraisingly, and decided to sneer at her as she passed. Tristen frowned at this, her confusion only deepening, but some force drove her onward after the black-cloaked man. She passed a beggar that gave her a grin, baring his rotten and missing teeth. She barely suppressed a gasp at this, and chose to henceforth keep her eyes forward.

The buildings around her seemed to become increasingly run down the farther she followed the man ahead of her, and the sound of the ocean became increasingly apparent. She smelt the salt of the ocean, and a part of her seemed to liven, as if some distant memory begged to surface. She pushed back the nagging feeling and focused only on the lone figure ahead of her, although she could feel other eyes from the allies she passed upon her. She shivered at the sensation, and gulped down bile that rose in her throat from fear.

The docks appeared before her then, and she followed the strange man onto a dock that lead towards a building beside the water not far down. She grimaced at the sound of her heavy boots clanging on the dock, but noticed the man never glanced back at her. She looked down at the rolling black water under the dock, and glanced her reflection in the moon reflected water. She wore a simple black cotton buttoned shirt, with riding pants, and black leather riding boots that rose to her knees. A heavy coat was draped over her, which weighed her down with its waterlogged weight and caused her to sweat profusely. She had long brown hair that would have been lovely if it were not matted and filled with dirt. Her features were unclear in the rolling water, but she could see the deep gash on the top of her head, decorated by dried, crusty blood, which lead to her raising her hand instinctively to touch her wound. A wound also was exposed on her shoulder, torn through the fabric of her shirt and her coat. It was no wonder her head ached and people gave her strange glances. She did not look like the people she had passed in the streets in the slightest of resemblances. She felt more fear creep into her slight frame, and she walked faster after the strange man she followed for a reason she could not identify. He had slipped into the building, which judging by the noise and the drunken laughter had to be a tavern. A sign marked the outside of the building, although it meant nothing to her. She hesitated at the entrance to the tavern nervously, before, finding no other option, she pushed herself in.

She found table after table of unsavory patrons drinking and laughing and singing. Men threw daggers into a parchment on the wall, and laughed, and seemed to take bets. Half-exposed women perched on the laps of dirty, greasy men, whispering in the men's ears, as the men groped the women's breasts. Bar wenches delivered ale to men, and served food to others. A woman sang, poorly, for the audience, but mostly received jeers and shouts from the men below her. Tristen shrank back towards the door, but when her eyes found her stranger, she found herself taking a step towards him. It was then that she realized she had no idea what to request of the man once she approached him, and she turned to flee once more.

Her sudden, quick movement thrust her into the chest of a tall, muscular giant that glared down at the small woman. Her pale amber eyes widened with her fright and she backed away from him immediately. Although large, he was quicker than she, and an iron grasp clamped around her tiny wrist, and wretched her wounded arm up, as far it would go, causing her to stand on her tiptoes and gasp in pain. The man shouted into the crowd, in some harsh language she did not understand, causing silence to sudden take over the tavern, and every eye to fall on her. Patrons began to laugh and approach her, despite her ardent struggles.

"Please, please, let me go!" She cried out, desperately, but they seemed as ignorant to her language as she was to theirs. Her struggle caused more laughter, and more men, and even women, approached and reached out to touch and prod her soft pale skin through her coat. She struggled vehemently, but the giant's grasp around her wrist was as good as an iron shackle. Voices spoke above her head, and she felt herself spinning dizzily. She felt herself faint into the giant, albeit only for a split second, but long enough for his arms to clasp around her slight form and cause a deep laugh to rock his body. The stench of him caused bile to rise in the throat, paired with a panic that roared deep within her soul. He bent his head down to plant a hungry kiss on her blushing pink lips, and she clamped her eyes shut and a scream came unwanted from her, and she believed it was what caused his sudden pause, just inches from her face. The laugher and the voices ceased as well, and when she dared open her eyes a look of terror was on the giant's face, and the crowd around them had stepped away from the pair.

A soft, but cold as ice voice sounded behind the giant's back, outside of her view, and with a half-hearted jeer that did not disguise his fear, his arms released the young woman and she stumbled away from him back to her feet. The giant moved away to reveal the hooded man in the black cloak, only his tight, thin lips visible to her. He gestured for her to follow him up the stairs that lead to the rooms above the tavern, and she quickly followed, desperate to flee from the giant. She followed close to him, although he did not appear to notice, until her turned and pulled her into a room after him.

Before she could open her mouth to speak, a jeweled dagger was pressed to her delicate white throat, one of his arms wrapped dangerously around her stomach, and his mouth next to her ear. Her heart pounded furiously, and she was sure he could hear it, and gasped back a sob as her sense of safety quickly vanished.

"Why are you following me? Tell me quickly, before I rob you of your ability to speak," He whispered icily in her ear, in a language and an accent she did not understand, although his tone she could understand perfectly. She feared shaking her head to express her ignorance for fear of the dagger that hungrily pressed hard enough on her neck for her to feel its deadly sharpness. But she knew intuitively that if she did nothing he would slit her throat for her perceived defiance.

"I do not understand, sir. Please…Please don't hurt me. I mean no harm…please, sir," She whispered in English, her voice lovely and soft despite its terror, and perhaps some touch of her desperation reached him. His dagger, however, pressed harder against her throat, erasing her hope, and she felt a trickle of her blood drip down her neck, and a single tear of despair slipped down her cheek to land on his gloved hand.

"In Common," He demanded in his indifferent, callous tone, ignoring or uncaring of her terror. She knew she had been foolish to follow this man, but a part of her wondered if any other would have had a different outcome. One of her hands reached up to delicately finger the dagger at her throat, and she accidentally touched the hand of the killer behind her, then wretched her hand back as if stung, an action that caused to dagger to sink a tiny bit more into her neck. She whispered again her ignorance, and, faster than she could think, she found herself flung roughly onto the bed.

A spout of dizziness overcame her and she laid passively where she was flung, attempting to recover from the tremor in her head. When she recovered enough to sit up, she rolled and sat up towards where he had been when he pushed her, one of her hands clasped around her bleeding neck. He stood where he had been before, staring down at her with an indifferent face, although his eyes bore into her cruelly, soaking in every detail and movement she made, somewhere computing all her actions into his head for later retrieval. She looked up at him, her eyes wide with fear, half covered by the disarray of her jostled hair. He said nothing as he stared at her, and she found she could no longer look at him, and instead stared meekly at his feet.

"Who sent you?" He asked sharply, his eyes aglow in suppressed anger. She braved a glance at his face, handsome, despite its hard, cold expression, and opened her mouth once more to profess her confusion, as she moved to lower her gaze once more. Before she could register the need to move away, he was upon her, his hand clasped around her jaw, wretching her face up to level with his, her own hand instinctively flying up to wrap around the wrist of the hand that held her. He repeated his question, ignoring her hand, and she stared hopelessly into his gray eyes, her terror slowly fleeting from her as desolation took its place.

"I…" She began, but stopped, in a suppressed sob, some figment of her pride preventing her from letting her tears roll down her cheeks. He stared intently at her face, and a part of his expression seem to soften, although so slight it could be easily mistaken for something else, perhaps due to the innocent desperation that burned in her young eyes.

"Who are you?" He asked, with signature indifference. To which she shook her head slightly, despite his iron grasp, which was neither softened nor released. When she did not reply, he sighed, frustrated, and released her. She shrunk away from him then, crawling to the other side of the bed despite her heavy wet cloak, her terror immediately returned when it did not appear he was going to kill her just yet. He walked to the other side of the room, albeit that was not far in the tiny, shoddy room, and stared out the window, as she watched him like a timid animal poised to flee at his slightest threatening move.

"Take off your coat," He demanded, not looking at her. When she did not move, he turned to face her, and lightly picked up his own cloak, unclasped it, and draped it over the sole chair in the cheap inn. He pointed at it, expectantly, with an edge of impatience. She nodded, and took off her coat gingerly, before letting the garment fall with a wet thud onto the ground. Her eyes never left his, and when she pointed at her fallen coat, he nodded. She shyly offered him a small, somewhat forced smile then, pleased immensely at even the slightest of communication between them.

"And yours boot," He commanded, pointing to his boots, although he did not remove them. She eagerly obeyed, more than happy to be out of the soaked garments. He walked towards her then, quickly, and with purpose, which caused her to slink away in fear, to the head of the bed, her smile fading away.

He sat on the edge of the bed, and pointed to the spot next to him. He seemed to have determined that she was not a threat to him, and had rid her of any possibly hiding placed for weapons. She seemed unsure, and watched him anxiously, until he stated, impatiently, "Sit. Now." Although the words meant nothing to her, the tone did, and she crawled towards him obediently, draping her socked feet over the bed, sitting next to him, although not as close as he had requested.

"Who are you?" He asked again, harshly. She tilted her head to the side, and frowned. To this, he pointed at himself with a growl, and said, sharply, "Artemis Enteri."

She smiled brightly at him, which he seemed to frown ever so slightly at, clearly surprised that his name would bring a smile to her pretty, but dirty, face.

"Artemis Enteri?" She asked, actually reaching out a hand to touch him ever so slightly on the shoulder, as if to form a connection between the name and the man, his name almost sounding sweet on her voice, despite the husky, injured tone that came from her raw throat. He made no reaction to her touch, but rather he gestured to her, and she nodded, and spoke slowly her name, "Tristen Morgan." He raised a brow to her name, as it sounded as foreign as her clothes appeared. She bit her lip nervously, and glanced around the room, before standing slowly as to not surprise him. He allowed her movement, so she walked to the window where he had stood previously. She turned to him then and pointed out the window.

"Calimport." He said irritably, becoming somewhat annoyed at the ignorance of the girl that had followed him through the streets, wondering if she was foreign or dumb. Her expression at the name he gave her provided him much information, however. She did not look dismayed, as someone delivered here against her will might, or content, as someone who knew where she was and pleased at her location. Rather, a look of complete confusion passed across her features as clear as day, telling him the name meant nothing to her, and for a few moments she appeared to the assassin as little more than a frightened animal, helpless and innocuous, and caught, hopelessly, in a hunter's snare. He only could not help but wonder if he were the hunter, or some other man that lurked the shadows of Calimport.


	3. Chapter 2: Transistion

I Do not own anything but my own characters and my imagination. DO NOT COPY WITHOUT MY WRITTEN PERMISSION

That night he slept in the chair in the dingy, foul smelling inn room, Tristen sleeping nervously on the bed as he watched on to ensure she did not attempt to escape. The following morning he took her to the only place he could think of possibly taking her: Dwahvel Tiggerwillies. He knew that if he took her back to the Basadoni guildhouse, she would no doubt become fodder for the dark elves. He did not want Tristen dead, until he knew who she was, where she was from, and why she followed him to the docks. He draged her through the allies and sewer passages to deliver her to Dwahvel with as few curious eyes as possible. He must have the halfling do something about her clothing, before rumors began to spread about her, and his interest in her. He growled under his breath, causing the young woman in his tow to look up at him with a frown, and then quickly look back to her feet as she navigated the strange passages. She did not know if he was taking her somewhere to keep her, or to kill her. She was not entirely sure which alternative she preferred.

Her answer came, however, when he brought her through a backdoor to a strange tavern, and pulled her in after him. Some strange half-men looked up at the pair curiously, which caused her to gasp and take a step closer to the menacing man she had followed. Her response meant much to him, but he responded only by giving her an emotionless, but icy Enteri look that sent her eyes from the half-men to her feet. One of the half-men and Enteri spoke, and once more they moved down a few more passages until he entered a another chamber with her in tow.

A plesant looking half-woman waited, sitting casually in a plush chair, and smiled amiably at the man, and then sent curious eyes at the strangely-dressed, injured woman behind him. Tristen stared at the half-woman in wonder, before remembering her manners and looked away to take in her surroundings.

"Have you brought home a new pet, Artemis?" Dwahvel asked casually, as if him dragging in prisoners was common place.

He glared, but his tone was lighter than his look, "She followed me."

The half-woman laughed, and did not ask for any more details. She knew he would offer them in his own time, if, of course, he even knew them.

"I need you to watch her until I get what information I need from her. She does not speak Common, and doesn't seem to understand anything else."

"Or who you are?" She asked lightly, noticing the woman stood strangely close to the assassin, when most people would flee as far from the man as possible, clearly overwhelmed by the halflings, the sewers, and her ignorance to everything around her. The woman still stood a good distance from the man, however, proving that even if she did not know he was one of the greatest assassins to live, she was still far from comfortable with him.

Artemis did not choose to answer, but rather laid some coins on the table in from of Dwahvel.

"Make her blend in, and give her a proper name. Tristen Morgan might as well be a target. If she dies, you will suffer the consequences. If injuries make her talk, then so be it." He turned to leave and Tristen moved to follow, but he pointed to the half-woman and said in a low growl, "Dwahvel." She frowned, but made no further move to depart with the man she had followed.

Dwahvel proved to be a kind enough mistress, and Tristen proved to be a more than eager student. The young woman's first night came to be a pleasant one, despite her trepidation at being left by the only, albeit unlikely, person she had come to feel safe around. Safe from others, if not safe from him.

Dwahvel, however, proved to search for trust in Enteri's prisoner first with kindness, and then, if necessary, punishments later on if needed. In truth, the halfling saw in her the same innocence that Artemis saw, and it was that innocence that likely saved her life before and saved her from punishments now. Dwahvel was far more patient than the assassin, pointing out objects and their names without much thought, and Tristen picked up on the language with remarkable aptitude. The human girl was not permitted outside of Dwahvel's personal rooms, however, and guards were permanently posted to make sure she was kept inside, so the woman was never able to forget that she was a prisoner.

That first night she was bathed in lukewarm water by a halfling servant while Dwahvel spoke to her in the Common tongue she did not understand. Tristen was soothed nonetheless by the friendly tone, and quickly grew over her modesty at being bathed by another and watched by yet another. She was given a new name, as Enteri had demanded, that night, as well. The halfling had made sure to have her attention, and then pointed to Tristen and said, slowly, "Seeli Loredes." The halfling felt the name fit the doe-eyed creature, for the name meant in her tongue "unfortunate sunwalker." The halfling smiled at her own wit, but the woman seemed confused in what she was asking of her. The woman caught on quickly, however, and within a night went from being Tristen Morgan to Seeli Loredes, but the change of names did not change the fact that her sole claim to life in this strange world was a man who lived only because he destroyed.


	4. Chapter 3: Innocence Maintained

DO NOT OWN ANYTHING – DO NOT COPY WITHOUT WRITTEN PERMISSION

Time passed quickly for Seeli, until the mysterious man she followed seemed to become a distant memory. Her wounds healed, although her memory did not, but she had begun to embrace her new life as Dwahvel's servant. She cared to the needs of her keeper dutifully, and earned some measure of the halfling's trust. Seeli was still not permitted in the tavern below, and much less outside the protective walls of the halfling guild, but she was permitted outside Dwahvel's chambers and given a room of her own. Even now, however, she always felt the eyes of the guards on her, monitoring her every move. If she had thought to consider escape, she would have known it was impossible.

Enteri never came to see her again, and the woman began to think he had forgotten about her, or she had been given to the halfling for good. Either option pleased her, as she felt safe with Dwahvel in a different way than she had with Enteri. She did not think Dwahvel would kill her, but she also was not sure the halfling could protect her in the way that Enteri was able to. Despite this, she felt safe in the guild, and tended to their overabundance of little halfling children, where she practiced her growing grasp on the Common tongue. She laughed with the children as she chased them through the fairly large common hall, with her peasant skirts trailing behind her. It was in these moments she missed the sunshine and the deep forests and open fields, although her memory of these was hidden somewhere in her brain where she could not grasp it. She had stopped trying, knowing it would only break her heart if she tried too hard and failed. Dwahvel asked her questions about her past fairly often, but she was never able to answer, and eventually the halfling stopped asking so frequently. Seeli asked on occasion about Enteri, but the halfling never told her the truth of the assassin. Some part of Dwahvel perhaps enjoyed the sweetness of Seeli's ignorance, although she knew that the girl could never be released from the guild with such innocence, for it would be the death of her on the harsh streets of Calimport. Although ignorant, Seeli was not stupid, and was perhaps even clever, and possessed a loyalty of iron that slightly impressed the halfling. Dwahvel did not allow herself to form too close an attachment to the young human, however, because she knew that at one word from Enteri she would have to kill her.

It was this thought that always plagued her mind when she went to see Enteri each time he visited. He would casually ask about the girl, but he had never asked to see her. She suspected he waited until she knew the language effectively enough to communicate with him, but she hoped in her own small way that it was because he had lost interest. Tonight would be different, though, she knew. She could feel it as she spoke with him that night, until finally he came to the topic.

"What did you name the girl?" He asked, leaning back in his chair with his feet on the table. It was a rare glimpse into Artemis that few saw, him at ease, but she could still feel a dangerous hint in his tone at the mention of the girl that followed him. Or perhaps she imagined it.

The halfling smiled slightly, wondering why he had never asked before, "Seeli Loredes."

"Is she so unfortunate?" He asked with a raised brow.

"To have her life in the hands of an assassin, perhaps," She said with a drink, grinning at her friend.

"And does she know?" He asked, a definite edge to his voice.

"No, but she does ask about you at times." She replied, soberly.

He said nothing for a time, but he leaned back farther in his chair, seeming to enjoy his ability to relax. "And the second part of her name?" He inquired after a time.

The halfling shrugged, "She is pretty, for a human, although it was hard to tell when she first arrived. It was a joke to start with, but she has lived up to her name."

He nodded indifferently, never one to be beguiled by beauty. A beautiful woman was, perhaps, more dangerous than an ugly one, but both died the same way.

"And her speech? I wondered if she were simply dumb," He stretched casually, and again the halfling marveled at her strange friendship.

"Greatly improved. She can carry on a conversation effectively enough. I would wager against dumb. I would rather think she is too intelligent for her own good. But dangerous? I do not suspect she knows anything she shouldn't, or has a devious purpose."

"I will judge that myself, but I warn you if you are wrong or deceiving me" And his boots rolled from the table to strike the stone ground, and at once he was standing. "I think I will pay this unfortunate girl a visit."

Dwahvel felt her heart skip a beat, and realized that perhaps her attempts at keeping distance from the girl had failed. In this same realization, however, she knew that she would do nothing to stop Enteri from killing her.

Seeli slept in her bed peacefully, oblivious to the shadow that loomed over her bed. His halfling friend has been correct in her appraisal of the girl's appearance. Especially in sleep, she appeared as an angel wrapped in a halo of long, clean brown hair. Her pale neck lay perfectly exposed, an easy target, if he chose. One could tell a great deal from the nature of one's rest. She slept with the unguarded nature of the pure, a nature of rest that he had not seen for as long as he could remember. In Calimport, innocence died young.

It was her purity that distracted the assassin, not her beauty. It would not thwart his need for answers for long, however, as he could not leave her without knowing that without a doubt she was not a threat to him. He nearly laughed at the thought of the frail elfin creature that lay before him being a threat. He turned to leave her to her rest, when a slight gasp caused him to turn back to look down at her now wide, open amber eyes. His hand was out and covering her lips before she had even the chance to think of screaming her fright.

"Do not scream, or I will silence you myself," He threatened icily, although his voice did not have the effect he expected. Her eyes seemed to calm when she realized who he was, when normally his presence would have caused his victim to become even more frantic. He slowly moved his hands from her mouth, and she shyly smiled up at him blindly.

"I thought you gone," She said, her Common sufficient, but marked with an accent he had never heard before.

"Disappointed?" He asked indifferently, his face shrouded in the darkness of her windowless room, although his eyes glowed a slight red from his night vision. Night vision she did not have, however, so his form was only a slight outline to her.

She seemed to consider her words carefully, and said with an honesty he could not overlook, "I haven't decided yet."

He simply nodded, although he knew she would not see the gesture, and took a seat at the foot of her bed, unclasping his hood and setting it on the bed beside him, and then making a move to adjust his boots. At the gesture, she sat up immediately, clutching the blanket to her bare chest with a slight rosy flush on her cheeks. She looked so different than the dirty, bloody creature he had rescued from the giant in the tavern by the docks. And she was calmer, as well, despite her barely covered nudity and his close proximity. He could faintly hear her heart beat, though, but he was unsure as to the cause of her anxiety. He waited for what seemed an eternity, simply watching her face in the darkness, as her eyes stared forward blindly.

"Your silence unnerves me, Artemis." She finally whispered, the truth of her words apparent in the slight shaking of her hand. It was not her shaking that struck him, but rather the sound of his name on her lips. It was rare his name was not spoken in disdain, or terror, or pleading. But she spoke it in such a curious mixture of sadness and hope.

"Why do you shake if you are innocent, girl?" He growled, his tone dangerous, not letting himself be fooled by her. "Do you know why I am here?"

Her eyes looked elsewhere, and for a moment he was sure of her guilt, and his hand moved to his dagger. Her voice came to him as barely a whisper, "I am not so young as to be ignorant as to why a man such as you might come to my chambers in the cover of night."

Her response surprised him, although he did not let it show, even if she could not see his response in the dark, as it were. It did not take much imagination to comprehend what her fears of him were. "And have many men, _such as I_, came to your room?" He replied in his typical tone, although a touch of fury had come to him at the thought of men touching her pale flesh and looking into the eyes he had perceived as pure. If there was one type of woman he hated more than any other, it was a whore.

"No, Artemis," She whispered, although a distant memory seemed to come to her that she could not fully place, "That is why I shake, because I have never known a man. And even as you saved me from that giant, I would ask of you…" Her voice trailed off, although her eyes remained glued anywhere but at his outline.

He felt his calm return, and some part of him knew she was not lying to him. He knew a lie when he heard it, and it was her sincerity that calmed him, although he could not identify as to why. He could almost laugh at the thought process her mind was taking, but he allowed her to continue, curious to see what she would offer him in return for his "rescue," knowing it would echo of her character.

"Yes?" He prodded, seeming half bored.

Her skin blushed deeper, and he saw it trail down her neck and under the sheets. "I would ask that you do not make me pay my debt in…that way. I would give you anything else"

He moved quickly to place himself beside her, with his hand possessively holding her jaw roughly, just inches from his face. He knew she could see him then, if her eyes were open. Instead they were tightly shut, just as her arm still held her blanket to her chest tightly, and she shook despite her will, but she did not struggle to get away from him.

His voice was low and deadly when he spoke, "Do I disgust you, little one? Does the idea of my hands on you make you shake in terror?" Her eyes opened then, and she seemed to look at him for the first time. He was handsome, but he terrified her in the same way he made her feel safe. She could tell from the strength in his hands that he could snap her neck, and likely had to many others before her. But he did not disgust her, which was perhaps why she trembled at the thought. His face was hard and angry, an emotion he permitted to display on his face, whether he meant it or not.

Behind his mask, he was able to look at her beautiful face, twisted in fear and confusion, and something else he could not place. She had an ethereal quality to her, he allowed himself to admit, but should she answer him incorrectly even once, it would not save her, as it might from lesser men.

"No," She spoke in barely a whisper to his masked surprise, once more her honesty winning over her terror, "but you frighten me, and I would be nothing more than a passing distraction."

He laughed at her, despite what else he might think, a soft, mocking, horrible sound, which caused her eyes to widen and despair to flood the amber orbs. Her body was limp, and when he released her from his grasp, she fell back into her pillow, her hands still concealing her body under her blanket. One of his hands traced her neck in a gentleness she would not have expected, and her eyes tightly shut as if in an attempt to deny the pleasantness of his touch. "You are a lovely creature, Tristen," He said her name purposely to remind her that he knew of her identity, "But you are foolish to think you would ever be anything more to any man than a passing distraction. You amuse me, for now. Anything you have, I could take, with or without your permission. Do not forget that you belong to me, little one, and no one else, not even Dwahvel. No matter how much affection she has for you, she will kill you at my command. If you serve me faithfully, I will let you keep your maidenhood, but if not, I will take more from you than that." At that, he stood, and he left her. He could hear her gentle sobs as he left, and a part of him felt almost dirty for what he had done to the girl. He knew he had stricken fear of him into her, however, and that was his aim. The relief that had appeared in her eyes when he had first appeared before her haunted him, and he shook his head to erase the image. Enteri learned a great deal about his stalker that night, and every bit of it he would use to his advantage.


End file.
